


The Land Beyond The Horizon

by FullSizeRender



Series: Monster Hunter Chronicles [2]
Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Altered canon, Bonding, Explicit Language, Family, Friendship, Gen, General fiction, Greatsword, Gunner - Freeform, Hunter - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Light Bowgun, MHU, MHW, Monster - Freeform, Monster hunts, Plot, Present Tense, Sisterhood, Sisters, Third Person POV, Violence, anjanath, felyne - Freeform, great jagras, high intensity action, monster hunter - Freeform, platonic, prowler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-07-28 01:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16231379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullSizeRender/pseuds/FullSizeRender
Summary: After years spent apart, Runa and her elder sister Tarja have reunited to tackle the new world together. But a year of training isn't enough to mend their bond, the strain of being the black sheep weighing heavily on Runa as the skill gap between them becomes more and more prominent. As they struggle to reconnect they'll have to face the New World, full of larger than life friends - and foes too dangerous to ignore.As a mysterious threat looms large, they'll have to find out what's stronger: packs of monsters or the strength of family.





	1. One Step Forward, One Step Back

“Again.”

 

Tarja’s gruff voice pierces the natural calm of the forest, holding a blunt wooden lanceand greatshield that almost looked miniature against her massive stature and dense muscles. Her eyes are razor-focused on her younger sister Runa, a calm expression contrasting with her armored chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Runa, however, isn’t faring as well. Of average build and strength, the younger woman breathes raggedly as her light bowgun dangles limply at her side. Despite the sweat dripping from her forehead and her unsteady stance, the defiant fire in her eyes burns brighter than the setting sun.

 

“Baldur, set the targets up.”

 

Tarja motions toward a black-and-brown striped felyne sitting further behind Runa who quickly darts all over the clearing, pinning up a myriad of hastily painted targets onto bullet-riddled trees.

 

“You’re not tired?” The younger sister asks breathlessly, wiping the droplets of sweat out of her eyes. “We’ve been at this all day. I had to BEG you for a snack break this time. This is getting ridiculous.”

 

“Are ya kiddin’? This is how Pa trained me! Sunup ta sundown! Sharpens yer skills, makes ya ready ta hunt in extreme conditions!” The elder sister spits out response, grip tightening on the wooden training lance as her calm expression slowly shifts into a more intense, determined scowl. She whips her head from side to side to shake off her own sweat, dreadlocked hair flailing wildly before coming to rest on top of her armor’s pauldrons. “Quit yer whinin, yer not gettin’ any sympathy from me. Pa always said that ya gotta push it ta the limit if ya ever wanna get stronger, so we ain’t stoppin’ ‘til yer stronger. Simple as that. ”

 

“Y’know you’re not dad, right? You’re a little too soft for that.” Runa retorts without missing a beat. Smiles creep onto their faces. “See? You’re already smiling. Dad hasn’t smiled since I told him I hated hunting.”

 

Tarja’s confident coaching facade briefly breaks, her hardened face softening just a bit. “He’ll smile once he hears I’ve been whippin’ yer sorry ass into shape ta join the commission. I promise.”

 

Baldur, having completed the target setup, bounds between the two of them to signal that their training session is ready to begin anew.

 

“Yer not too tired ta remember the rules, are ya? Remember: three pokes and-”

 

“And I’m  **_dead_ ** . I know, I know. Hit the targets, don’t get jabbed, whatever. Just try not to jab me in the stomach this time, okay? I’m barely keeping that disgusting Rheno meat down as it is.”

 

“Monsters won’t do ya the same courtesy, so why would-”

 

“UGH.” Runa’s eyes practically roll out of her skull.  _ If I have to hear that cheesy line one more time, I’m gonna lose it _ , she thinks as she loads normal rounds into her rifle. “Tarja, you-”

 

“Ready, nyah?” Baldur quickly interjects, and at once Tarja readies her training weapon. Runa is slower to prepare herself, tucking her weapon under her arm so she tie her fluffy, natural hair into a poofy ponytail. Confident her hair would no longer disrupt her vision, she takes a few steps away from her sister and steadies the stock of her bowgun against her hip.

 

“Aye, ready for you to eat dung.” Runa angrily murmurs. 

 

The spiteful whispers dissipate before they hit her sister’s ears, but they ring loud and clear for the sensitive-eared Baldur. He’s smart enough to keep silent, not wanting to waste one of his nine lives running his mouth. Instead, he raises his paws into the air to signal the beginning of the countdown.

 

“Three, nyah!” The palico shouts at the top of his tiny lungs, both huntresses on alert.

 

“Two, nyah!” Tarja lifts her shield slightly, obscuring the lower half of her face as she tucks into herself. The bruises on Runa’s stomach pulse ominously; her whole body seems to scream at her to be ready for  **something** .

 

“One-” Tarja kicks off like a frenzied Barroth, knocking the unassuming cat to the side as she rushes her sister down, her practice lance fully extended. Thunderous footsteps pound the ground as she closes the gap, putting every ounce of her weight behind a mighty thrust...only to lose track of Runa as she dives and rolls out of the path of her sister’s rampage. 

 

The nimble huntress’ intuition had finally caught on to elder sister’s trick (about 10 vomit-inducing pokes too late), scrambling to right herself and wildly fire off a couple of shots. Only one hits their mark, but it’s all she has time for as the ungraceful clattering of her sister’s armor makes Runa mindful of her opponent’s redirection.

 

Tarja grinds to a halt, nearly falling over as she tries to rapidly change directions and chase her prey. Despite how happy she is that her sister finally reacted properly, she maintains an intense scowl of concentration.  _ NOW it’s a match! _ The feeling of competition sent chills violently thrashing down her spine, heart pounding with untold amounts of ruthless glee. Could her sister have finally learned her lesson?

 

Runa tries to line up a second shot at a higher target, but loses her concentration as she dips to avoid an incoming spear tip, then another and another. Tarja jabs and pokes at her sister incessantly, forcing her to continue to backpedal without a moment to breathe. She knows her sister’s weaknesses like the back of her hand. If the monster closes the distance and applies pressure, she becomes so focused on avoiding the hits and backpedaling that she doesn’t bother to even  **try** to hit a target. She gets worn down as they chase each other around the arena, and eventually ends up flat on her back when her legs give out.

 

Sure enough, the dextrous huntress’ bobbing and weaving grows dull and sluggish, less predictive and more reactive. The lance comes closer and closer to finding center mass on Runa, even coming as close to grazing her ribs before the young huntress realized she needed  to do something - fast. She can feel her legs buckle beneath her with every step backward, threatening to collapse and open her up to immense pain, but her options seem to dwindle with every passing second. To take her eyes off of Tarja is a death wish, and sliding past her rapid assault would require perfect timing to not simply catch a lance to the chin. Despite having the illusion of an impenetrable defense, Runa notices something she hadn’t in previous sessions: Tarja opens herself up to stab with the wooden lance. 

 

_ What do you do if you can’t go around something? _

 

_ You go through. _

 

Runa drops to avoid a jab, then explodes upward as Tarja opens up for another strike to deliver a devastating uppercut right to her sister’s exposed chin. The unexpected punch sends the older woman stumbling backward in a daze, the two of them sharing mutual pain as the younger sister massages her stinging knuckles. It hurts like hell, but it buys her enough time to line the shot up again and blast the target right in the center. Bullfango’s eye.

 

“Nyah-hah!” Baldur meows with excitement, suddenly on his feet with a toothy grin. After weeks of watching his partner be on the receiving end of some nasty blows, Runa had finally given one back.

 

“You sneaky little...ow, gods dammit. That hurt!” Laughter bellows from Tarja as she squeezes her jaw, testing the extent of the blow. It’s sore, and she definitely heard something rattle around for a second, but she’s more impressed than anything else. Runa hit her! Runa! She  **is** finally taking the training seriously! Tarja’s excitement is barely kept under wraps, masked with a wide-eyed expression of awe.

 

“I’m convinced that you’re part Khezu, not Wyverian. All that damn yelling.” Runa adjusts the strap of her bowgun as she taunts her sister, loading in three more normal rounds to replace the ones she had used. That brief moment of cockiness - her eyes focused solely on her ammo pouch - is all Tarja needs.

 

The towering huntress rears back before taking flight, roaring as she leaps toward her sister and uses her momentum to come in for a powerful diving blow. By the time Runa’s finished rummaging through her pouch, the spear collides with her shoulder with enough force to send her tumbling to the other end of the clearing.

 

“That’s one!” Tarja declares triumphantly as Runa releases her agony into the ground, her whining and expletives lost to the soil. “Remember, ya always need ta be moving! Yer first move was good, but ya can’t stop after just one. Keep yer head up and eyes peeled! If ya can’t make snap decisions, yer done for!”

 

The younger huntress wheezes as she struggles to gather herself together again, managing to climb to her hands and knees before her shoulder throbs and locks her entire arm up. Her body begs her to stop just as it had in the first sparring match, and every match after that. Bruises on different parts of her body flare up to make themselves known, with the throbbing on the back of her head being the most intense. Runa can practically  **see** the Deviljho again whenever that old scar pulsated. The blood-freezing cold of the blizzard, those feelings of deep desperation, staring right into the bloodied face of death...she gasps as the beast’s maw closes in, shaken free from her day terror with a sudden rush of fear-fueled adrenaline. 

 

It’s an extreme reminder of why she continues to stand up.

 

“There ya go! Quit yer floppin’ and cryin! Yer fine!” Tarja shouts encouragingly, planting her feet to prepare for another charge. “Are ya ready? Four more targets!”

 

Rather than respond, Runa silently raises the bowgun and snipes a third target. It feels worlds better than actually cursing at her, and her sister’s surprised expression gives her the same smug satisfaction.

 

“Three more. Never let your guard down, right?” The young woman asks spitefully. Tarja snorts, genuine shock painted on her face.

 

“Just like I thought.” The corners of Tarja’s lips twitch, fighting the urge to beam with pride. “Cheeky little shit. Lookie there.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the sun disappears beneath the horizon the training session draws to a close, leaving the sisters and their loyal felyne to start their nightly camp ritual. Baldur drags back buckets of water for them to clean up with, Tarja yanks dry branches to spark a campfire and Runa handles roasting meat once the fire’s high enough. They all wordlessly fall into their roles as the sky dims, and by nightfall they’re all in their usual positions in the center of the camp, huddled around their main source of warmth and safety.

 

“So,” Tarja absently picks at her teeth with one of her clawed fingers as she speaks, a handy gift from her Wyverian ancestry. “How ya feelin, runt? Think yer ready for the boat?”

 

“Er…” Runa hesitates, jaw forcibly shut by anxiety. In the morning they would be marching back to Moga Village to catch a one-way boat trip with the Hunting Guild’s illustrious Research Commission. Their destination? An island only referred to as The New World. Reports occasionally floated back on supply ships about the Commission’s unbelievable - and typically dangerous - findings, and none of them were remotely enticing to a woman that was still wrapping her mind around being a huntress by trade rather than in name only.

 

Runa exhales slowly through her nostrils, fidgeting and shifting as she struggles to muster up a satisfactory answer for her sister.

 

“I...I mean-”

 

“It’s okay to be afraid, Runyah.” Baldur chirps. The sisters’ eyes dart to the felyne, who sets aside a freshly-gnawed bone. The younger huntress gives her palico a small but grateful smile, the cat’s words informed by shared experience. Tarja grunts with disapproval. “You’ve made lots of progress! Today’s session was unbelievable, nyah! It’s important to have that little bit of fear! Being too confident leads to mistakes, nyah!”

 

The elder sister snorts and spits, shaking her head with explicit disapproval.

 

“Y’all two are too soft. That kinda weakness’ll get ya killed.” The massive huntress hops to her feet, the flames of the campfire rising to match her passion. “The only advice ya need should be comin’ from ME. I hunted with the Ace Hunters, and...”

 

Runa and Baldur both sigh; they had lost count of how often they heard that phrase over the course of the last year. Neither of them ever challenged Tarja’s raw power or battle prowess, but something about that phrase felt condescending.

 

For Runa in particular, she’s reminded too much of her father’s relentless ambition.

 

“...I learned that hesitation WILL get ya killed. Never doubt yer instincts, and never walk in scared. Ya go into the hunt with fear, that fear makes ya freeze. Ya freeze...and you better hope the monster doesn’t hit anythin’ vital, or them felynes are gonna be cartin’ ya back in pieces! Gwah hah hah!” Tarja throws her head back, the thunderous laughter at her morbid joke echoing through the empty woods. But as she looks to her comrades to see their smiling faces, she’s disheartened to find solemn, frowning faces gazing far into the darkness.

 

“Whaaaat? C’mon, it’s supposed ta be funny. Jokes! Ya remember those, right? I know it’s been all business lately but I know ya still got some jokes in ya.” Tarja playfully nudges her sister with her knee, who stubbornly resists by refusing to budge.

 

“You know I hate jokes like that.” Runa murmurs. She curls up slowly, bringing her knees to her chest as she stares at the fading campfire. Baldur curls up at her feet in silence, a quiet show of solidarity.

 

“Oi, Roo…” Tarja’s eyebrows furrow, lips tightly pursed as the gears grind in her mind to try and find the words to exercise empathy. “I...I didn’t mean ta-”

 

“It still haunts me, Tarja. Staring right into the mouth of a  _ Deviljho _ . Face to face with a monster that makes even the highest ranked hunters shudder.” Her older sister eases her way into kneeling down next to her distressed sister, a clawed thumb gently massaging - or at least, with the least amount of force she can apply - her sister’s aching shoulder.

 

“Ya hardly mention it anymore. Figured ya just…”

 

“Moved on? I...I’m not like you. Or dad. Or mom. I can’t brush with death and bounce back. I can’t do what you do.”

 

The crackling logs of the dying flame fill the wordless void created as Tarja’s free hand clenches, her best efforts to bridge the gap between her and her sister coming up heart-wrenchingly short.

 

“Runa, do you still feel like you’re-” The elder sister chokes on her words, her lack of experience confronting strong emotions clashing hard with her desire to rekindle a friendship lost to chasing different priorities. It’s too painful to think about, let alone say. She’s just not ready - not yet.

 

“Hm? Do I feel…?”

 

“N...Nothing, Roo.” Her voice cracks and quivers, failing to disguise her emotional anguish. “Hey, remember the time we went bug catching as kids? Over in the Swamp?”

 

Runa snorts, a weary smile creeping onto her lips. 

 

“I wouldn’t call what you did ‘catching’. I was the only one who brought a net. You, on the other hand, thought - and I quote - ‘the pretty bugs taste better’.”

 

“Yeeeeeah, that’s the one! Look, in my defense, them shiny beetles were as delicious as they looked. Mmmmm mmm!” She jokingly licks her fingers, exaggerating the smacking on each finger as Runa begins to chuckle.

 

“Yuck! You even ate, like, six Stinkhoppers! Betcha that’s why you’ve got mush sloshing in your head these days.”

 

“Oi! Don’t ya start on me! I still remember yer snivelin’ and runnin’ back ta Pa, talkin’ ‘bout how I was eatin’ the bugs you liked! Ya big wimp!”

 

“They  **were** cute! Ugh. It’s been this long and I  **still** think you’re the grossest ever.” Runa releases her knees as she stretches, a full-fledged grin lighting up her face. “Dad was so mad. We couldn’t go back to the swamp alone for a week because of you!”

 

“Worth. Every. Beetle.” Tarja declares with pride, and for the first time in what felt like ages the two of them shared a hearty laugh. “Okay, okay...thanks fer goin’ down memory lane with me. I, uh...I couldn’t let ya fall asleep with a frown. What with us havin’ such a big day tomorrow and all.”

 

“Thanks for that. It’s nice to see that you still care so much. Feels good to reminisce on...better days...” Runa nods slowly, her smile fading slightly as the fire fizzles out. 

 

Tarja's breath hitches, Runa's words needling her heart like a Banhabra sting. The smoldering embers try their hardest to illuminate the campsite but they’re too weak to continue, leaving soft moonlight to pick up the slack.

 

“Well…” Tarja clears her throat, hopping up and clapping her hands together to signal the end of the conversation. “Go ahead and climb into yer sleepin’ bag, aight? I’ll stay up a little longer ta make sure we ain’t ambushed or nothin’.”

 

“Thank you, Tarja…” As she unfurls her sleeping bag Runa realizes just how exhausted she is. She hardly manages to slip into the leather bedroll completely before her eyelids become heavy. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning...”

 

“Aye! First thing, lass! And hey, I’m...I’m real proud of ya fer workin’ so hard. Th’ way ya walloped me earlier, ya really got me good. Yer so much stronger and I-I...”

 

Tarja pauses to sharply inhale, and the only response she gets back is gentle snoring. At least it felt good to get off of her chest. 

 

Tarja slips the lance’s shield onto her arm and prepares for another night alone with her thoughts.

 

“Never mind."


	2. The More Things Change...

Once a quiet and unfrequented fishing town on the coast of a (mostly) deserted island, Moga Village’s small population began to swell as enthusiastic hunters and huntresses piled into airships to catch the Commission’s transport boat at its final stop. Not since Ceadeus had been discovered in the island’s underwater ruins had the village been so energized! The din of enthusiastic hunters rattle day and night, the town’s only inn so full that its residents are forced to sleep three or four to a room just to accommodate them all! Needless to say, the village’s sleepy residents are working overtime just to keep their new guests fed.

 

After packing their campsite up at the crack of dawn and marching into the village, Runa passes under the thick wooden portcullis that separates the town from the monsters beyond and finds herself stunned. After months of seeing only Tarja and Baldur from sunup to sundown, the sheer volume of fresh faces and voices is overwhelming, to say the least. Sure, she knew that the Hunting Commission wasn’t a small crew by any stretch of the imagination, but seeing just how many other hunters there were - likely more qualified than she could ever be - made her feel...insignificant?

 

It’s a different sort of frustration for the young woman, one that she hadn’t experienced since she struck out on her own for the first time. The anxiety of being out of place, alone in a crowd of her peers. The kind that makes her question why she even bothered working as hard as she did for all those months.

 

“Ya smell that, Roo?!” Tarja’s booming voice cuts through the indistinct chattering of the crowds as clear as day, rhetorically posing a question to her distracted sister. Only Baldur, sitting on Runa’s shoulder, glances over to show the giantess that at least someone is paying attention. “That’s the smell of adventure! Doesn’t breathin’ it in just get yer heart racin’?!”

 

“Smells like rotting fish, and the salt stings my nose…” Runa murmurs, her complaint lost to all but the chuckling felyne.

 

“Of course it does, what am I sayin’! My little sister’s a bonafide huntress now, and we’re gonna take that island by storm, eh?!” Tarja beams as she completely blows past Runa’s grumbling, throwing one of her massive arms around her open shoulder and pulling her in. It’s playful to her, but the elder sister’s excitement has her yanking her sister around like a rag doll. “You and me! The sisters, together ta slay! Feels good, eh?”

 

Runa musters up a smile at that, which is more than enough evidence for Tarja that things were looking bright. Even if she struggled finding her footing as a huntress, being with family - and a little furry friend - at least helps her feel less alone. It’s a small but meaningful step toward mending a burned bridge.

 

“Let’s get ya registered! Gotta do that ‘fore the boats get in!”

 

Tarja gleefully takes the lead, forcefully parting the crowd by refusing to try and ‘politely’ navigate the labyrinth of hunters. The elder huntress had her eyes set on the Inn, and not even Runa’s frequent apologies for the people she trampled on along the way would stop her. Judging by the pained groans of the hunters in their wake, Baldur’s fairly sure there would likely be a few that won’t be getting onto the boat.

 

The inn is the beating heart of the village, buzzing with a steady stream of hunters squeezing past each other into the doorway. The smell of exotic seasonings and gamey meats overtake the village’s fishy odor, and as the trio enters the bustling building Runa finally feels as though she can breathe deeply.

 

“Ahhhh...I missed this! The hustle through the halls, the clangin’ of armor, swear words that I’ve never even DREAMED of - ain’t never felt more home than I have in a Guild Hall, Roo. Never!” Tarja breathes deeply, exhaling through her nostrils. She lived and breathed the hunt, and could hardly remember the last time she wasn’t trading barbs with other passionate hunters before and after tackling a fearsome beast - or three.

 

“It’s definitely better than being outside, I’ll say that. The smell of food mostly. Not so sure about everything else.” A tight smile forms on Runa’s lips. It’s a small improvement, but the stuffiness from tightly packed hunters with a roaring flame in the other room to rapidly roast meat and fish quickly offset any gains she would have made from changing environments. No matter where she went, nothing felt right…

 

“If that means some properly cooked grub, then I’d rather be here nyah! I’d rather pull my whiskers out than eat that camp-cooked slop again!” Baldur jokingly whines and yowls to feign stomach pains as Tarja approaches the counter first, producing her hunting license - a small but thick notepad filled to the brim with stamps of her accomplishments through the 3 hunting tiers - and setting it on the counter to be examined.

 

“Watch what you say, you little pile of Aptonoth dung-” Runa plucks her furry compatriot from her shoulder, staring directly into his eyes as he hangs limp and wide-eyed. Despite her intense scowl, she couldn’t stifle her lighthearted laughter. “Or you’re gonna end up being the next meal!”

 

Runa playfully scolds her small friend by shaking him around as Tarja does her best to hold and dip a tiny quill into an even smaller inkwell, presented with a red ledger for her to sign. The massive woman appears to hesitate, staring at the ledger with an anxiously bitten lip for what feels like an eternity before she finally scribbles her name in and slides the book back to the registrar. Tarja and the older man have a brief conversation in voices too low to catch until - 

 

“Runa?” Tarja turns back around to her sister and slowly motions toward the counter with an emotion her younger sister couldn’t quite place. It certainly wasn't as hopeful as it had been before. “C’mon Roo, yer up.”

 

“Er…” Runa slowly stops playing with Baldur and steps forward to set him on the counter, their brief moment of levity brought to an abrupt halt. “Yeah, got it.”

 

“Ah, so you must be Runa! Yes yes, a pleasure to meet you. Your sister spoke highly of you!” The registrar offers a complimentary smile, but receives nothing in return from the young woman. He continues to speak, undaunted. “The process is simple! I’ll just need to see your hunting license to confirm that you’re qualified to take the trip.”

 

“Uh huh. Hopefully this will do…” Runa trails off, reaching to the bottom of her leather ammo pouch to pull out her license. Significantly thinner than her sister’s, the registrar quirks an eyebrow at the young woman’s light notepad.

 

It takes the man all of a few seconds to flip through what few pages were in the notebook, clapping it shut with an indifferent “hm”. His smile never wavers, but he’s clearly unimpressed.

 

“I see, I see. Looks like you either did the bare minimum or avoided dangerous hunts wherever possible, is that right? I only see a few stamps for Blagonga, Velocidrome, and a Khezu. No Astalos, no Gammoth, no Nerscylla, not even a Gravios...”

 

Runa’s gaze finds its way to the desk, shame stinging her cheeks like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

 

“I...I did, yes. B-But I also killed a Savage Deviljho…” Runa’s shining achievement fumbles from her quivering lips, and the man nods curtly.

 

“You did, and well done to you! For a woman that spent her time lingering the middle of high ranked hunts, you managed to take down a beast that tests the mettle of even the best G-Rank hunters! I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t know who your sister was. Clearly fighting above your weight class runs in the family!”

 

Runa can feel the solid lump of inadequacy stuck in her throat, trembling fists held tightly at her side as her face grows flush with the pain of humiliation. She can’t even stand on her own merits without Tarja holding her up!

 

“Y...Yes. I suppose it does.” She replies through grit teeth. She shakily extends an open hand toward the man expectantly, unsure if she wants to cry or scream. “May I have my-”

 

“And by the gods, has she fought!” The man excitedly exclaims, and the attentive elder sister begins to squirm uncomfortably as she fights the urge to interrupt. Neither sister was particularly pleased about where this conversation was going. “She’s among the youngest to ever hunt for a Lao-Shan Lung, went toe-to-toe with both a Hellblade Glavenous, withstood the venom of the Dreadqueen Rathian, joined the Ace Hunters to slay - not even repel! - a Nakarkos-”

 

“Oi oi oi! That’s enough, eh?” Tarja barks, swiping the small notepad from the surprised registrar and placing it into her sister’s open palm. “No one likes ta hear the boring stuff.”

 

“Thank you, Tarja.” Runa murmurs, silent tears bubbling up from a deep well of unresolved heartache rearing its ugly head. Everywhere she looked, around every corner, on everyone’s lips - Tarja. The second anyone found out they were related, the comparisons flowed like a waterfall. Nothing against her sister - she had clearly earned the bragging rights that others bestowed upon her - but why did everyone feel the need to put them under a magnifying glass together? It felt invasive, having everyone possible draw conclusions without bothering to learn just how different they were.

 

The little jabs added up to an overwhelming amount of anguish over time, and was one of the many reasons she set off alone.

 

“My apologies! I just get carried away sometimes, seeing the monsters that others hunt. I don’t get to hunt, you see. Bum knee makes me a liability. So I live vicariously through all of you!” The registrar’s passion seems sincere but the damage has already been unwittingly done. As he ducks under the counter, Runa takes the brief opportunity to swiftly wipe her precariously perched tears away and swallow the lump in her throat, forcing her angst back to the deepest recesses of her stomach where it belonged.  **Away** from her sister.

 

“And here we are-” The man pops up from beneath the counter, turning a dull green ledger toward her before sliding over an inkwell with a vibrant Qurupeco feather resting inside. “This is your ticket in! Just go ahead and pick an open space to sign your name on.”

 

It doesn’t take long to find an open spot - strangely enough, only the first few pages were signed - and she slides the ledger back with a slight smile, only for the registrar to push it back.

 

“Hooooold on there a sec! All Palicos must be registered as well, and are limited to one per hunter. I know hiring and deployment rules for Palicos are different in each region, so make sure this is the Palico. With all of THAT out of the way-”

 

The man reopens the ledger, flipping to the back to show a series of paw prints from the various other cats hunters had brought in. Finally realizing it’s his turn to be involved Baldur strides forward, leaning down to examine the ‘signatures’.

 

“So this is my competit-nyan, eh? Looks like a bunch of kittens to me.” The cocky prowler sets a paw on his chin, stroking his fur. Runa’s brow quirks, the hint of a sincere smile on her lips. “I’d wipe the floor with ‘em all. Top of the heap, I’d be!”

 

“Er, if I can interject here…” The registrar clears his throat, drawing attention from the huntress and ire from the interrupted Felyne. “There is no competition. The Commission is meant to be a research and exploration team, created in order to gain a better understanding of the monsters we share our lands with. Hunting is certainly an important part of this and you’ll certainly be compensated for your work, but-”

 

“Uh huh. It’s noble, for a good cause nyah. I get it. But we’ll hunt, don’t we?” Baldur meows over the registrar, whose smile has entirely faded. The process isn’t meant to take this long, and he can feel himself losing patience with this Felyne.

 

“Uh...y-yes. Yes, of course. I just said that.”

 

“Then I’ll be the best at it, nyah. Runyah, Tarja and I will be your best hunters. End of discussion!” Baldur pours a bit of ink on his palms and excitedly mashes them down, leaving a pair messy and vaguely cat paw-shaped prints that took up an entire page. Runa is mildly amused, silent laughter held in her chest at the display of unabashed bravado. The registrar is the furthest thing from impressed.

 

“Thank you for your...impassioned speech. And for making a mess of my book. We’ll be sure to keep that in mind for your assignment. Keep an ear out for the bells, they’ll tell you when the ships are coming in.” The stoic man slides the ledger back under the counter, then motions for the three of them to back away from the counter. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

 

Mutters of exasperated relief ripple through the long-past patient hunters and huntresses waiting behind the group as Tarja ushers her sister down the hall, Baldur hopping onto Runa’s shoulder to hitch a free ride. 

 

“C’mon! Now that we got ya signed up, I gotta show ya one last thing in the kitchen ‘fore the boats come in. Trust me, it’ll be great!” Tarja exclaims, as though her sister ever had a choice in the matter. Her lack of agency doesn’t stop her from playing along with a smile though, knowing how much fun her older sister is having at the prospect of both being reunited with family and hunting in foreign lands.

 

Runa’s mostly just happy to see her sister again, hunting be damned.

 

It’s even harder for Tarja to navigate the narrow hall than it was for her to move around outside, clogging up the walkway like a walking wall. It didn’t matter how many times she, Runa or Baldur apologized during their short trip, nothing made up for hunters having to flatten themselves against a wall to get around the Wyverian - a feat only made more uncomfortable depending on how much armor her victim had decided to wear that day.

 

Tarja is the first to breach the kitchen’s doorway, and she nearly squeals with delight at the sight of a wall of cheering people, all turned inward watching...something. Only Tarja stood tall enough to see what, leaving Runa to see nothing but the backs of excited hunters and huntresses, jingling bags of gold in hand.

 

“Don’t let ‘im win!”

 

“C’mon, I got a lot riding on this!”

 

“Is he cheating? No one’s THAT strong.”

 

“That’s what you get for betting against a Wyverian.”

 

“Wyverian…?” Runa murmurs to herself with extreme interest. She hasn’t seen another Wyverian outside of her family in...ever! The odds of running into another one here had to be astronomical, at minimum! The curious woman plucks her Palico from her shoulder and holds it close to her chest to make it easier to slip through the crowd, keeping her eyes trained on the center of the shouting maelstrom to keep from being disoriented by the churning masses. The ranting and raving audience surrounds and envelops her, pushing and pulling her like the currents until she emerges on the other end to find-

 

“Dad?!” Runa shrieks, nearly leaping out of her skin at the sight of her hulking, bearded father reveling in the challenge - or lack thereof - from the two hunters across from him.

 

Unkempt and clad in Duramboros armor as mighty-looking as he is, Drebit watches the two hunters strain and struggle to make his arm budge even an inch in their arm wrestling contest. The older Wyverian man hardly looked like he was breaking a sweat, smiling and guffawing as he eggs on the crowd. He’s having the time of his life, putting on a show by doing everything but finishing off the red-faced hunters.

 

“Oi, ya steppin’ up too? Hope yer bringin’ more than just yerself cuz ya look scrawny. Be a shame ta take yer coin from ya.” Drebit absently notes as his eyes glance past the shocked woman toward other elements of the crowd. 

 

It takes him a moment for his head to snap back and realize just who he was looking at. The broadest, most genuine smile spreads across his face, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. His daughter is finally back home.

 

“Aight boys, show’s over. I’d love ta stay and make more money, but I got more important stuff ta handle. ” Drebit grunts, flexing his massive bicep before slamming the two mens’ arms onto the table and nearly throwing them onto the floor in the process. As the challenge draws to an anti-climatic close some in the crowd cheer and others groan, the familiar jingling of coins overtaking the mutterings of the hunters. Slowly but surely a majority of the hunters disperse, leaving Tarja, Runa, Drebit and a fiery-haired woman with a hefty coin purse in her hand, wearing the sharp golden scales of a Seregios and the greediest smile on her face.

 

“Ya didn’t sell it hard enough, old man. We coulda made more if ya played up the ‘weak and old’ angle. Didn't even bother to pretend that ya might lose.” The woman playfully chides Drebit, tossing the coin purse onto the table. She raises her eyebrows at him before she makes eye contact with Runa, giving her only a warm smile as a greeting. “Your dad just can’t do it like he used to.”

 

“Don’t think just cuz the kids’re here that imma let ya scold me, eh? Watch yer mouth, Rath.” Drebit’s rumbling voice quips back. The eldest Wyverian places the coin purse into a hip pouch before standing, eclipsing Runa and even standing a head taller than Tarja.

 

“Pa!” Tarja opens her arms up wide and practically tackles her father, gleefully wrapping their enormous arms around each other as they start telling each other harrowing hunting stories. Runa can tell how tightly they’re squeezing just by looking, and she feels a phantom ache just thinking about one of those spine shattering hugs. Her father is full of love, just...rough around the edges. Very rough.

 

“Hi, mom.” Runa murmurs with a slight smile, setting her palico back on her shoulder. The more reserved between the two parents, Rathia sets her hands on her armored hips to study her daughter and her furry compatriot.

 

“So ya went and got yerself a license AND a cat, did ya? Lookie there.” Rathia remarks with a teasing side smile, motioning toward Baldur. “You’ve grown. Yer not the same lil’ girl that ran off in the middle of a night a few years ago.”

 

The young woman shuffles uncomfortably as her past transgressions are re-exposed and prodded. The only person Runa bothered to tell that she was leaving was her sister, which she can’t imagine went well the next morning. Her parents don’t appear to be bothered, but just because it’s not obvious doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there.

 

Runa knows this better than anyone.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to beat ya down. Got past that after the first year once your Pa dragged me away from the airship ticket booth. Literally.” Rathia continues dryly, Runa physically shuddering at the thought of her mother’s unbridled rage. Drebit used to say that she was a beast when she got that mad to keep his daughters from acting out, but the grave look on his face when he said it never struck either one of them as mischievous or playful.

 

“Then...what brings you here, Ma? Feels strange seeing you without your glaive. It’s almost like you’re not gonna hunt anything.” Runa finally replies to her mother with a hesitant attempt at rebellious humor, which actually earns a chuckle from the older human huntress.

 

“Heh. Cheeky lil’ thing. Y’know, ever since you kids really got out on yer own we’ve been feeling the itch a little more often.” She muses, running a hand through the unshaven portion of her hair. She exhales through pursed lips; it’s evident that something is weighing on her. “To be honest, comin’ here wasn’t our first choice. We wanted to give ya a chance to fly on yerr own and come find us when you were ready. Thought that since ya kinda kicked off that process on yer own, you’d come back when ya thought it was time.”

 

“Huh.” Runa murmurs, digesting the surprising amount of parental insight it took to exercise that kind of restraint. It couldn’t have been easy to come to a conclusion like that. “So why come here? It couldn’t have been coincidence. Tarja’s too worked up for that.”

 

“Moga’s special, I think. I always seem to end up back here.” Rathia pauses, looking past her daughter with a distant, reminiscent gaze. “After I left home, this is the first place I settled in to stay a while and get my footing. This is where I met your father, through the fishmongress. We left for a while, only to come back and wrestle with a Ceadeus. It’s where I really started my life as a hunter. And now, thanks to Tarja telling us about a ‘surprise’...I get to see you do it too.”

 

“The Ceadeus, nyah...that was you?!” Baldur chimes in too, frantically glancing between his companion and her mother. “You’re famous all over the continent! You and your husband saved this village from practically falling into the ocean, nyah! Not to mention the Jhen Mohran, the Shagaru Magala...Runa, you didn’t tell me that  _ they _ were your parents!”

 

“I...I try not to mention it.” Runa shrinks and slouches, grumbling under her breath. No matter how interesting her mother’s life might’ve been, she couldn’t shake the feeling of living deep inside of yet another shadow.

 

Rathia exhales forcefully through her nostrils, keenly aware of her daughter’s distance. “Aye, that we are. Yer friend there’s got good blood runnin’ through her. Just seems like she’s choosin’ not to use it. No shame in that, though.”

 

Runa is silent, tight-lipped and conflicted. To hear the same thing from both her mother and Baldur that she had from the registrar drops salt into a wound that refuses to close, but she can tell that there’s far more understanding behind her mother’s soft words and recounting of the past than the guild representative had.

 

In the background, the din of bragging and competitive barking between father and daughter begins to die down, their grandiose accounts of past hunts winding down as the everyday chatter of hungry hunters slowly returns to fill the room.

 

“Those two are gonna be done soon, so I’ll wrap this up for ya.” Rathia makes brief eye contact with Baldur, who catches the hint and hops off of Runa’s shoulder to listen in on the two hulking hunters trade tales.

 

“I was hurt when ya snuck off like that. No parent wants to wake up and see that their kid’s gone and didn’t even bother to tell ‘em. But I get it now.” Rathia sets a gentle hand on her daughter’s cheek, calloused thumb rubbing the side of her face. She chokes back a sniffle, holding in a difficult emotional war she had waged within herself since Runa left home. “I set off alone ‘fore I met your Pa. I was a gunner when I left, and now I’ve got a collection of Insect Glaives waiting for me at home. Not that you’re gonna be so simple, but...we all take a little time to figure ourselves out. Just promise me ya won’t do it alone anymore, alright? We all love ya, and we’re real happy to see ya alive and well.”

 

Her mother doesn’t even finish her reassuring words before her hand is wet with tears. It was tough for Runa to leave home, going into self-imposed exile to escape the searing pain of being the black sheep in a family of lions. Selfish? Definitely. But to bear the weight of a fake life and exhaust herself finding enthusiasm for something she despised felt worse than figuring out life on her own and leaving her family to carry on without her. Years she spent becoming what she thought she wanted to be, only for a single hunt to upend her hard work and bring her on a collision course with a family she left behind. Now...she had no clue who or what she was. But her mother’s kindness and reaffirmation of her love struck a chord that she wishes she had heard a few years ago.

 

She probably wouldn’t have even thought about leaving.

 

“Oi oi oi! Don’t ye go cryin’ now, ya ain’t even got on the boat good yet!” Her father’s gruff voice draws the attention of the two women back to the family’s largest member - only by a few inches, to Tarja’s constant disdain - where he stands shoulder to shoulder with the oldest daughter, both sets of thick arms folded. Tarja is the spitting image of Drebit, down to her everyday mannerisms...for better or for worse, who can say?

 

“O-Oh! Pa! Sorry, I think it’s the smoke in here! Those pipes are...phew!” Runa sheepishly stammers, fumbling for an excuse as she nearly punches herself in the eye to quickly wipe her tears away.

 

“Don’t ye worry, lass! It’s an emotional day fer me too, eh? Ta hear that mah two kiddos are off ta do a special assignment fer the Guild...that’s a real gig! Wish I had somethin’ like that at yer age! Haw haw haw!” Drebit’s delight comes at the chagrin of Runa, who can feel the eyes around the room turning back to them after her father’s joyous belly laugh.

 

“I was just tellin’ Pa about how I ran into ya! Ain’t seen you so banged up since ya rolled into those cactuses!” Tarja wears a bright smile, eyebrows slightly raised as if to goad the story out of her younger sister. Her eyebrows raise further at the young woman’s hesitance, and a few seconds of silence goes by before her father speaks up again.

 

“Aye, she was! Can’t believe ya ended up in Pokke! Talk about gettin’ far from home!”

 

“Y-Yeah! I dunno, something about being up in the mountains just called to me!” A white lie, but a lie nonetheless. She simply scanned a map until she found one of the more remote villages she could get to with an airship ticket. But he didn’t need to know that. “Found a cheap home to rent, made a little money here and there...then that Savage Deviljho showed up.”

 

Drebit nods with respect, admiring his daughter’s hard work.

 

“Fellin’ a Deviljho with one of those peashooters? And a Savage one at that? Yer somethin’ else! Vicious and cunning, like a Nargacuga! Well done, lass!”

 

“It wasn’t just me, dad. I had Baldur there too! I don’t think that I could have done it alone!” The cat perks up at the mention of his name, ears and tail standing attention as he gazes up at the monumental warrior from the floor. His tiny heart beating out of his chest, he opts to take a short bow instead. Runa had never known him to be starstruck, but she figures that it isn’t often you meet a local legend. “He’s extremely reliable!”

 

“Eh, I guess. Ain’t been one ta hunt with cats, so...” Drebit’s nonchalance breaks Runa’s heart, stunning the two of them as he shrugs and doesn’t even bother to acknowledge her furry partner. Just like that, the good will built up from her mother’s consoling speech is chopped at the knees. Her smile has all but vanished again, and the all-too-familiar frown reclaims its throne on her soft features.

 

“But that’s great! Glad he got ya through it. Now that Tarja’s here, I’m sure you two-”

 

“Three.” Runa spits her correction out with a hiss, disappointment weighing heavily on her furrowed brow.

 

“That’s what I said, aye? The two of you are gonna hafta watch each other’s backs!” Runa sighs as her father speaks; it’s not worth the effort to correct him when he gets wound up about hunting, even if it hurts to hear him talk. “There’s only two things yer gonna be able ta trust on that island - yer strength, and yerselves. So yer gonna hafta fight, and fight hard! Never quit! Yer both my flesh and blood, and I won’t accept anything...”

 

Tarja and Runa exchange glances briefly as their father rants and raves about his lofty expectations; the elder Wyverian seems surprised and apologetic, but all Runa can muster up is exhausted dismay. She knew this was going to happen. It’s high on the list of reasons she left, after all. Drebit’s zealous love for the hunt is admirable but overwhelming, placing great stock in accomplishments and legacy - a legacy that only Tarja seems to have the ability to fulfill.

 

“Ya know you’ve lost ‘em, right?” Rathia chirps with a smug smile. She throws a quick wink to her silent daughters - both of whom perk up with a bit of amusement - nudging her husband as she takes her place next to him. “Plus, ya got every eye in the inn ogling us. Ya look like you’ve lost your marbles, old man. Moreso than usual, anyway.”

 

Drebit seems lost as he’s pulled from his trance; the eldest Wyverian struggles to regain his train of thought before finally letting out a defeated sigh.

 

“I was just gettin’ ta tha good part! About how our grandkids ‘re gonna be great hunters, and they’ve gotta have stories ta pass down…” Drebit trails off, coming to the conclusion that he may never finish the rousing pep talk he thought up on the airship over. “The point is that yer gonna have to give it yer all over there, girls. I know ya can, but...call it a friendly reminder. Do us proud.”

 

Tarja smiles with understanding as Drebit cuts to the chase; Runa halfheartedly feigns enthusiasm with a nod hoping it would get the conversation to move somewhere else. Luckily for her, it doesn’t have to.

 

The entire kitchen falls silent as bells begin to jingle and tingle outside, the sharp ringing echoing through the village. The ships had come into port, and were ready to be boarded. The kitchen began to clear out, and Drebit’s jolly demeanor had returned.

 

“Hah! We spent all that time talkin’, didn’t even notice tha time! Go on then, lil’ kelbis!” The older man snorts, opening his arms wide like the maw of a monster for a goodbye hug. “Remember ta write or somethin’! We wanna hear all ‘bout it!”

 

“Yer forgettin’ somethin’. Goin’ senile in yer old age, Dre?” Rathia clears her throat, motioning toward the man’s hip pocket. He seems puzzled for a moment before snapping his fingers and digging out the coin purse - his winnings from before.

 

“I ain’t senile! I just got a lil’ carried away, that’s all! Yer feelin’ kinda snappy today, ain’tcha?” He cuts a side glare at his wife before holding the pouch out to his daughters. “It ain’t much, but consider yer first meal on the island on us. Figgered ya already had yer weapons, so…”

 

“I…” Runa looks to her sister briefly, then manages to dig up a real smile. “ _ We _ appreciate this. Thanks, Pa!”

 

“And don’t forget what we talked about, eh? Promise me.” Rathia whispers, and Runa nods slightly to avoid drawing suspicion.

 

“C’mon, c’mon! I’m too excited to stand around!” Tarja impatiently whines, giving her father the fastest bear hug possible before heading for the doorway. “We might get left behind if we don’t hurry!”

 

“Right, sorry!” Runa calls over her shoulder, then turns back around to embrace her father.

 

“Be safe, lil’ one. It was nice ta see ya again.” Drebit whispers, giving his daughter a light peck on the head before turning her loose.

 

“You too, dad.” Runa replies with a slow nod.

 

“Come  _ ON _ .” Tarja shouts once more, and the younger woman darts off with Baldur hot on her heels. On her way out Runa swears she hears the distinct sound of a choked sob, but there’s no time to turn around and be sure.

 

Outside of the inn the crowds they had barged through earlier had become much more orderly, with a line of eager hunters and huntresses leading right to the docks. Fresh faces and old souls alike mingled, all chatting as they waited to be processed and directed into the two waiting transport ships. Behind the line, the residents of Moga waved and cheered, wishing them luck and thanking them for stopping into their humble village - and spending a little coin while they were at it. Runa can’t help but get swept into the excitement, heart racing with every step closer to the front. Heading to uncharted territory on a research assignment...what sort of wonders would she see? Not even the registrar had given them so much as a taste of what they’d find, which only added to imaginative daydreams. Fantastical monsters, beautiful blooms, magnificent landscapes - so much to see! And all with Tarja and Baldur, to boot! Life in Pokke was serene, if a bit isolated and monotonous (even if that was the intention). Perhaps the new world would be even better...

Her imagination carries her through the line and she’s gracefully set down before a man clad in the green robes of a scholar, carrying the two ledgers she saw before. The red ledger sits open in one hand and the green ledger is tucked tightly under his arm.

 

“Name, please.” A second registrar demands in a flat tone.

 

“Runa!” She replies cheerfully.

 

The man’s half-open, sunken eyes pore over the pages of the red ledger before he snaps it shut, realizing that her name hadn’t been signed there. One arduously slow swap later, the man scans the pages and finds her name immediately.

 

“Runa - you have been assigned the role of Hunter. Please board the second boat. Once everyone has been processed, you’ll be assigned a cabin and you’ll choose your Handler.”

 

“Sure!” She steps past the man and follows the second dock halfway down before turning to look at Baldur and Tarja. Baldur confidently strides forward to join his owner, but Tarja looks despondent. Over the din of the crowd Runa can’t quite make out what her sister is saying, but it doesn’t seem as though their discussion is going well. The talking ends as quickly as it begins, and the older Wyverian steps onto the first dock.

 

It takes Runa a while to understand, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to understand. Her bright smile hangs frozen but the light in her eyes has faded, like a candle snuffed by a strong gust. As Tarja catches up to her sister on the other dock, the embers run cold.

 

“We...we were given a different assignment. But this is just temporary! I’m gonna find you on the island, alright? I don’t care who I have to talk to! That’s a promise!” Tarja does her best to console her sister, but none of it hits Runa’s ears. Agony rings clear and true in her ears, and she finds herself short on breath as her breathing grows ragged. She can’t even bring herself to cry, only to be led into the boat by Baldur in stunned silence.

 

All the speeches in the world didn’t matter, in the end. She couldn’t keep her promise.

 

Runa is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll be more regular when it comes to updating this story now that the new year has hit! Thank you for waiting, it means a lot to me!
> 
> Also, my lovely partner SyntheticAngel drew some amazing art of Runa and Baldur to go with my writing! Please give it a look when you get a chance: https://twitter.com/vampie_werecake/status/1070328096560041984


	3. A Rocky Start

“Gods...what happened yesterday?”

 

The salty sea air is abrasive as it crashes against Runa’s nose, freezing her face with discomfort as she has no choice but to accept the constant sting of the ocean. Her voice is soft and flat as she speaks, dull gaze fixed on the lanterns of the other transport ship in the dark - on her sister. Despite being a full day out from Moga Village, keeping her thoughts to herself did little more than make time pass more arduously than it needed to.

 

Baldur quickly turns away from watching the moon shimmering on the ocean’s horizon to give his attention to Runa, waiting in silence from his perch on the railing for her to continue. He spent the previous day trying everything in his bag of tricks to cheer her up and encourage her to talk, but when that well ran dry he thought it best to stay quiet. If goading her wouldn’t work, allowing her to talk on her own terms might - and it seems like it’s working.

 

“I let myself get swept up like a leaf in a windstorm. I wanted everything to just be...okay. And I think they did, too.” She runs a hand through curls of her hair with a grimace, self-reflective to a fault. “They wanted a quick and easy solution - say a few nice words, we all hug and move on so we don’t linger on the hurt more than we need to. And I fell face first into it.”

 

“You seemed pretty happy in the moment though, nyah. It’s tough to think that wasn’t what you wanted.” Baldur notes flatly with a tight-lipped frown, reminded of her father’s less than stellar acknowledgement of his hunting prowess.

 

“I know, and...part of me was. But apologies aren’t enough. My family may not be the ‘heart-to-heart’ type but I wanna really sit down with them, y’know? Help them understand that being sorry isn’t enough, even if it feels nice in the moment.” She pauses briefly, the slightest sardonic smile sitting tentatively on the corners of her lips.  “I want them to know I’m still hurting from back then. I want them to know that hunting isn’t everything. Sounds crazy when I say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

 

“Am I supposed to answer honestly, nyah?” Baldur mews, the two partners making eye contact for the first time in a day. The spark of mischief in his eyes, the slight joy in hers - the path to normalcy is paved and waiting.

 

“Don’t. Sounds we’re on the same page.” Runa responds quickly, drawing a chuckle from her cat companion. “But I just don’t know what to do about it, other than not blubbering like a baby. Any ideas…?”

 

“Don’t look at me, nyah. I didn’t exactly have a model family either. I had two other brothers and sisters, so things were always hectic. I didn’t really keep up with them after I left, but in all fairness neither did they, nyah.” The Lynian recounts with a shrug. “So...I guess if you wanna do something, you should start with your sister. At least you can get to her, nyah.”

 

“You’re right about that, furball.” Runa motions toward the stairs leading below deck with her head, tucking her hands under her arms. “Gods above, I can barely feel my fingers anymore. Let’s go, I don’t feel like brooding anymore. Why didn’t you tell me it was so cold?”

 

“You’ve been shuffling around since yesterday, nyah. People have been trying to talk to you - me included - and you sorta...didn’t.” Baldur hops down from the railing to trot next to her. “Plus, I have fur. Hardly even noticed, nyah.”

 

“Gotta say though...it was nice to see them again.”

 

“Maybe next time you’ll actually talk to them, nyah.”

 

The cat’s snide remark earns a cheerful grunt from his friend as they proceed down the steps into the warm underbelly of the transport ship, where the sounds of chatter, laughter and song fade in and keep the sounds of the sea out.

 

Runa recognizes some of the nameless faces she had previously seen in the crowd distributed through the galley as they milled about, various drunken smiles loudly chatting the night away. An unusual aroma wafts from the back of the room, where two short order cooks are hard at work haphazardly throwing ingredients into a pot of stew and serving bowl after bowl to hunters and huntresses waiting at the counter. The half-eaten bowls of “food” may sit unattended at tables but wooden steins of ale are very much cared for, each one held as though it were a prerequisite to join the merriment. High spirits and spirits to spare - that’s how her father used to describe his overseas ventures.  _ After all,  _ he’d continue.  _ What else are ya supposed ta do? Yer either asleep or yer drunk - and the second one always leads to the first! Haw haw! _

 

“Oooh! I love that song, nyah!” Baldur motions toward a group of delightfully sloven men slurring their way through a sea shanty, and the Lynian is already tapping his foot to the beat. “Hey Runyah, you mind if I…?” They aren’t Runa’s crowd in the slightest - most of the ship’s occupants weren’t, in fact - but who is she to deny her friend a good time, especially after spending a day moping around?

 

“Sure, go ahead. Y’know, you didn’t strike me as the singing type.” The huntress responds with a nod, looking past her felyne’s new friends to find a way to the counter that involved the least amount the least amount of contact with the cheerfully inebriated crew.

 

“You and Tarja never sing, nyah!” Baldur slips into the group, his off-key shouting fitting right in with the rest of the disharmonious hunters. 

 

_ At least he’s having a good time… _ Runa thinks with a slightly pained smile, the raucous sounds of drunken laughter and caterwauling grating against her ears. It takes her a while to finish surveying the room and all of its moving parts, but her keen eye pays off - she spots a (mostly) clear path along the sides near the portholes. It makes sense to her as she inches, squirms and occasionally steps over sleeping hunters on her quest to the other end of the room - no one that’s already unsteady is gonna want to see the ocean unless they also wanted to see their beer again.

 

As she sits at the counter she leans forward to ask for a bowl of soup, but it’s practically flung to her before she can get a good word in. No conversation, no warmth, no personal touches - it’s piping hot, chunky slop that she  **swears** is nothing more than dirty dish water, old Cudgel onions and the worst parts of a Scalefish all stirred together with life-threatening amounts of powdered hot peppers. The smell alone is enough to make her gag and reflexively shove the bowl back to its server.

 

“No wonder no one’s eating this stuff…” She grumbles, pushing the mysterious lumps around vindictively with her spoon. The more she looks at the stew the more dejected she becomes, fantasizing about pan-fried Popo tongue and Gargwa eggs on another cold morning in Pokke. Memories come pouring in - food cooked with care and made to order, the feeling of warmth that comes with everyone knowing your name, waking up in her own bed every day...her gurgling stomach whines, and she nods in silent acknowledgement.

 

_ Is this what being homesick is like? _ Runa broods, allowing the spoon to slip from her grip and sink further and further into the inedible grime before disappearing entirely.  _ So much has happened already, but it hardly feels like the ‘adventure’ Tarja kept telling me it’d be… _

 

“Is this seat open? I hope it is.” A female voice chirps, sliding her way onto the stool next to the morose huntress without waiting for an answer. “I’d sit somewhere else but everyone keeps stepping on my damn toes while they dance. It’s tough to drink and relax when my feet are swollen like puff pastries.”

 

“It’s not like it’s better back here. I’d rather someone bump into me all night than eat…” Runa blindly slides the bowl of sludge toward the source of the voice, stopping only she feels the bowl tap the woman’s hand. “Whatever they’re serving here.”

 

The reaction is delayed, but after a few quick sniffs the uninvited guest lets out a lengthy shudder. With no spoon in sight she opts to gently push the bowl back to its owner with a concerned chuckle - perhaps for the best.

 

“Oof!” The stranger hoots, audibly gagging. “You were  _ not _ exaggerating. That stench reminds me more of week old dragon dung with a little bit of...sun-soured Moofah milk. Guess that’s why everyone’s drunk, eh?”

 

“Hm.” An amused snort slips from Runa as she adjusts in her seat. The woman’s crude sense of humor is infectious, and she catches herself smiling. “Weird that you know that smell so specifically, but I guess it's none of my business. So, can I help you with something? Have we met before?”

 

“Oh! Yes. No.” She pauses, the sound of struggled shuffling filling the silence until a scrap of paper is produced. “Er...no. You don’t know me. We’ve never met, but I’m really hoping you can help me. I’m looking for...Runa of Pokke? I’ve been asking around for a while now, and-”

 

“How do you know my name?” Runa jolts to attention, finally laying her weary eyes on her conversation partner. “Are you a friend of my parents or something?”

 

To call her battle-hardened would be selling her short. Scars creep out from beneath her white eyepatch over her left eye like cracks spreading on brown stained glass, the straps concealed by layers of unstyled platinum blonde hair and held in place with a black headband. Faded streaks across her cheeks, hints of further wounds on her shoulders - all thankfully hidden under guild-issued leather armor. Crow’s feet adorn her one good eye, the ravages of time marking her skin but doing little to dull her sharpened gaze. Her right forearm is thickly wrapped in faintly red-spotted gauze, complete with a sling across her chest. It’s clear that she went above and beyond for her spot on the boat, but the extent of her injuries leaves Runa with a bevy of probing questions that she probably shouldn’t barrage a total stranger with.

 

“Thank the GODS. They called all the names yesterday but you two weren’t around, so we looked like idiots. No offense to you, though.  _ You  _ don’t look like a total idiot.” The woman chirps rapidly, her one remaining amber eye unabashedly examining Runa. “Gotta say though...looking a little rough. You’ve got that whole ‘brooding and depressed’ look going pretty well. Sunken eyes, slouching...the works. Is that just your thing? Or maybe you’re just exhausted. Honestly, everyone here looks like they’ve been run through the mud a few times so that may not just be-”

 

“Slow doooooooown...” Runa groans, holding her hand out to plead for a break and process the brief but massive tidal wave of words. Whether she was right about being exhausted or not (she was), being spoken to so rudely at breakneck speeds only grinds what little patience she has left down to dust. “Gods, you talk so fast...please, for sanity’s sake just start from the beginning.”

 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know anything. Sorry, got a bit ahead of myself. My mom used to tell me I had a mouth faster than an angry Nargacuga - and I don’t think it’s a compliment.” She clears her throat, firmly extending her gloved hand toward Runa. “My name is Sonali of Dundorma, and I’m gonna be your Handler. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Hopefully the beasties on the island don't give you too much trouble, what with your size-”

 

“And what does THAT mean, huh?!” Runa yelps in a sudden outburst of unrestrained emotions, clenching her fists and ignoring the gesture. “Am I too small to have killed a Savage Deviljho? I don’t look like I can pull my weight?! Not even five minutes and you’ve insulted me twice! Absolutely-” She continues to grumble incoherently as Sonali observes with unusual interest.

 

“I take it back, I take it back!” Sonali coos with a sly smile. “Didn’t expect you to get so defensive. You get picked on a lot or something?”

 

“I-” Runa hesitates. She’s all set to blow - to let out her frustrations with the trip, how she has yet to be judged on her own merits rather than who she’s related to, her frustrations with being forced to fall in line with her family’s traditions - but she can’t get the words out. To badmouth her family behind their back leaves bitter bile in the back of her throat. It isn’t that she doesn’t love them, everyone just needs some work.

 

Herself included.

 

“Don’t change the subject. I don’t know a thing about you; you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna tell you my life story on a whim.” The young huntress deftly deflects the question to keep her worn emotions from boiling over. “So, tell me about whatever a Handler is.”

 

“Oho, is that how it is? I see!” Sonali glances briefly at the man behind the counter, tapping the wood twice to wordlessly signal for a beer before her attention turns back to her new partner. “So a Handler’s like...your own personal guildmarm. I’m gonna be following you everywhere, and writing everything down. According to the head guild guy, we’ll have assignments the commission needs done urgently but if we decide to do a little extra work we don’t need to get it sanctioned first - we can just do it and bill them later for our hard work. It’s a solid deal if you ask me. Find some big game and we’ll end up making some extra Zenny in the long run.” 

 

“Uh huh.” Runa murmurs, watching the Dundorman woman take a lengthy sip of her beer with a quirked eyebrow. “Anything else?”

 

“Not that I can think of. That’s enough of a hassle as it is, y’know? They showed us the book I’m gonna have to carry around and-” Sonali sets the last of the drink down and sits up to mime how large the quest log is, though her slung arm does little to help her express the magnitude of the tome. “I can’t really- ah, forget it. It’s huge! Ridiculous to think that I’ve got to carry that around all time. I’d be different if it was a weapon, but...”

 

“You seem to be the only one complaining, though. I hadn’t heard a peep about it before you mentioned it.” Runa jabs her Handler with a slight sneer, volleying return fire for the jokes about her appearance before. “Imagine having all those scars and complaining about a big book, huh?” 

 

Rude, but boy did it feel good!

 

“Jeez, talk about snippy. Didn’t realize I was talking to a Ceanataur. I’ll have you know I worked my ass off for these.” She rolls her eyes, leaning back against the counter with a huff. Her gaze turns toward the drunken hunters and huntresses, watching them blissfully sing and dance to their heart’s content. She murmurs something about her stomach aching, but at best it’s a half-hearted attempt to cover her becoming mesmerized by the excitement before her.

 

Runa can’t help but look in the same direction, even if it makes her feel uneasy to do so. Song after song, steps and stumbles, jokes and laughter...it all looked like tons of fun. She could be having the time of her life out there with Baldur, yowling along with everyone until her throat went hoarse. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to get out of her stool to even try and do the same.

 

_ Tarja is probably having the time of her life on that other boat. I’ll bet she’s singing all those raunchy songs, drinking the guys under the table… _ Runa purses her lips, face twisting and distorting as she tries to get a grip on her feelings.  _ I wish I could have that kind of fun. It just doesn’t feel...right to join them. Why can’t I? _

 

The young woman breaks away from people watching to briefly steal a glance at Sonali. Even though she can only see the side of her face covered with the eyepatch, the expression she wears is all too familiar. That contemplative frown, how tightly she grips the beer mug, the way she chews at her cheek - they both appear to share the same amount of anxiety and uncertainty.

 

_ I guess the better question is...why can’t she? _

  
  


“Hey, Runa.” Sonali shifts in her seat so she can see her partner again, setting the empty mug back on the counter and breaking the silence between them. “I don’t like apologizing, but...I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, so I might’ve been a little meaner than I meant to. Lemme do this whole meeting thing over again, but...nicer.”

 

“Sure, I...yeah.” Runa murmurs with a slight nod. She understands; the outburst not even a few minutes ago still feels foreign and raw, unfamiliar with the concept of being so openly aggressive. It’s like a different person leapt out her skin kicking and shrieking, knowing that after laying dormant under the surface for so long it’d get its fleeting time in the spotlight. She can tell she needs a break or at least a second to collect her thoughts in familiar territory, but this ride appears to have no end in sight. “I got a little out of hand too, so we’ll call it even. Do you...wanna talk about it? It could be good for both of us! Y’know, since we’re working together and everything it might be nice to get to know each other a little better...”

 

The offer stuns Sonali for a moment, who appears to briefly consider the suggestion before wagging her finger at Runa with a crooked smile.

 

“Ah ah ah! What was it you said? ‘I don’t know anything about you; you’re insane if you think I’m gonna tell you all about me’ or something like that?” She quips, nostrils flaring with indignation. The surprisingly kind offer on the heels of their previously rough conversation leaves Sonali reeling, playing emotional defense to keep Runa out. She can’t remember the last time someone asked about her, and it shows. How dare she be so damn nice, catching her when she’s emotionally compromised?! “Works both ways, kid. Nice try though! You almost had me.”

 

“Oh come on, don’t give me that.” The hesitation from Sonali gives Runa the chance to press the advantage, seizing on the small window of weakness to dig further into a kindred (if somewhat guarded) spirit. “We can’t work well together if I don’t know anything about you. At least tell me about the scars. Those can’t be too personal, right?”

 

“Gods above.” Sonali hisses breathlessly, chuckling as she rubs her jaw. She knows she’s stuck now, cornered in their banter battle. Each set of scars had a story unique to them, which made telling every story that much more fun to do - and she knows once that avalanche starts there’s no way to turn it back around. Plus turning her down now would be cold, and she didn’t have it in her to say no.

 

Runa smirks confidently as her Handler’s head sways from side to side in thought, knowing that victory is firmly within her grasp. A perfectly executed riposte hidden under the veil of friendship had disarmed her Handler, leaving her cornered.

 

“Fine, I’ve got a few stories I can share. Three things though, and they’re important. First: I will NOT answer questions about my eye. No exceptions.”

 

“Aw man, that one’s the most interesting…” Runa murmurs, making no effort to hide her disappointment. “And the second one? Let me guess: no questions about the arm, too?”

 

“Oh no, the arm’s my favorite so far!” She exclaims with delight, eye bright with joy as she speaks. “That one's definitely on the table, for sure. I was gonna say that we should talk outside. I’m starting to sweat, and I’m gonna melt if I stay in here any longer!”

 

“That’s an easy one, okay! Gimme the third one too-” Runa slides off of the stool to oblige her Handler, but as her feet hit the floorboards she stumbles. Something under her feet shifts and throws off her balance, but a quick scan of where her feet hit the floor doesn’t reveal anything at all - nary a spilled drink to be seen or anything else that could have caused her to trip (at least not near her feet). Looking around the room Runa only spots a few other hunters that appeared mildly concerned by the sudden jolt, the others too drunk to think that their loss of balance might’ve been done by something other than their overindulgence.

 

“Did you feel that, Runa?” Sonali slides off of the stool cautiously, making sure that her footing is steady as she strides purposefully toward a porthole to find...nothing, again. Runa follows close behind, searching for any sort of explanation for the sudden tremor that rocked the ship out of a different porthole. It was too much to be the regular churning of the seas, but aside from the other transport ship there’s nothing to be seen. The skies are clear, the moon illuminating what little there is to see in the middle of the night.

 

“I did, but I don’t see anything.” She responds quickly, backing away from the porthole. Even if she couldn’t see anything, her gut said be on guard. That kind of quaking isn’t natural.

 

“Runyah!” Baldur comes bounding from within the crowd calling for his friend, scrambling up her leg to his usual perch on her shoulder. He’s disheveled and out of breath, but battle-ready all the same. “Tell me...tell me you felt that too, nyah?”

 

“I did, yeah. Oh Baldur, real quick - this is Sonali. She’s our Handler.”

 

“Handler?” Baldur inquires briskly.

 

“I’ll give you the full explanation later. Nice to meet ya.” Sonali’s response is curt and hyperfocused, and before she finishes she’s already shouldering past oblivious drinkers taking the direct path back to the stairs. “Let’s go talk to the Dragonwatcher, they might’ve seen something.”

 

The deck above is eerily empty with not a hunter or guild representative in sight, only the inky expanse of the ocean at their backs and the other transport ship distantly at their side. Nothing appears to be amiss among the gentle waves, which only served to confuse the three of them further. They all know they felt  _ something _ , but with no source to speak of their anxiety only deepens.

 

“Hey! Hey up there!” Sonali squawks up the mast to the crow’s nest, a small Felyne’s head peeking over to check the disturbance. “Have you seen anything...uh...weird out there? At all? Y’know, something...” She trails off, furrowing her brow as she looks to Runa. “Gimme a hand here, guys. I don’t know how to phrase this because...y'know, what ARE we looking for?”

 

“I mean, asking if he felt the tremor would be a good start.” Baldur chimes in slowly, confusion plain on his face. “Did you forget that quickly? Runa, where’d you find this one?”

 

“Of course I didn’t forget! I just didn’t know how to say it!” Sonali spits angrily, quickly covering up her embarrassment with aggression. “Watch yourself, eh?”

 

Rather than engage with the two of them in their bickering Runa steps forward to take over, cupping her hands around mouth to increase her volume without straining her voice.

 

“Did you feel that tremor earlier? Did you get a signal from the other boat that they might’ve felt it?”

 

“I haven’t seen anything from them, nyah!” The lookout Felyne pauses to take out a small brass telescope to check on the other boat’s Felyne and confirm his statement. “Nope! It’s quiet on their end. But I felt that shaking, nyah! Made me bump my head real hard!”

 

“I’m sorry, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, nyah! Or maybe not, I dunno. I’ve been seeing weird shapes in the water since I hit my head, nyah. I should probably come down, but we’re not far from the island nyah-ow. I’ll just get myself checked out...” The tiny voice fades out, disappearing back into the crow’s nest to resume his work.

 

Runa looks to her comrades with dismay, offering them a defeated shrug that Sonali and Baldur had no choice but to accept. That sort of rocking without explanation left them feeling uneasy, but without a lead to go on they had no choice to accept that perhaps they were making a big to do over nothing.

 

“Well since we’re already here...” Sonali takes a few steps back to confidently lean against the banister, her one functioning arm open wide. “Ask away! You wanted to know about the scars, didn’t you? Which one’s got you curious?”

 

“Hmmm…” Runa takes her time thinking and deciding, stroking her chin as she examines the woman’s legacy of wounds. In a way she’s reminded of looking at her father, one of the few people she’s seen amass so many scars and not be a faint breeze away from death’s door. Their strength and willpower are admirable - from a distance, of course. The only scar she’s got is hidden beneath the fluffy curls of her hair, and that’s how it’s going to stay as far as she’s concerned.

 

“I can’t believe you even have to think about this, nyah!” Baldur grunts impatiently, casually leaping from Runa’s shoulder to look her in the eyes. “We both know you’re gonna ask about the arm! C’mon, it’s still fresh!”

 

“Okay, okay!” Runa smiles at her cat companion, letting her hand fall from her chin to rest on her hip. “Y’know, even if you’re right it was still  _ my _ question to ask. She hardly even knows you.”

 

“The arm it is, then! Get ready, because this one’s a real doozy.”

 

Sonali takes her time clearing her throat - whether it’s exaggerated for dramatic or humorous effect, neither Baldur or Runa can say for sure - before she steps away from her spot against the railing and assumes her place on ‘stage’, like an actor preparing for their monologue.

 

“So I just happened to be in Cathar for some Mistentoe tea - delicious by the way, flowery and subtle - when things start getting weird. The skies start to darken with thick clouds as dark as pitch, and some hysterical kids come tumbling down the mountain screaming about a weird looking Gore Magala. Naturally I demanded to go in place of the villager’s hunters so they wouldn’t have to worry about burying any of their own - at a premium of course.” There’s a hint of gleeful self-satisfaction in her voice, as if she relishes that detail in particular. “I was there on break, after all. So I had to get all the way up Heaven’s Mount with a Gunlance strapped to my back, and lemme tell ya...”

 

“She put the squeeze on the Cathar villagers? That seems sorta...I dunno, scummy, right? Maybe it's just me. They’re real simple, spiritual folk, it just doesn’t feel right...” Baldur whispers to Runa as Sonali describes her treacherous climb. Runa nods slightly with tacit understanding, eyes fixed on their Handler to keep from interrupting. How much more could the villagers of Cathar give her that the guild couldn’t after the fact?

 

“...and at the top? The biggest damn Chaotic Gore Magala you’ve ever seen!” Sonali holds her arm above her head and hops, exaggerating the beast’s already enormous size. “And it’s beautiful, in that weird sorta way. The dark void of the Gore’s claw followed up by the shimmering scales of the Shagaru’s...ferocious. Damn thing was relentless, even poked holes in my shield! Guess that’s what I get for using Gypceros materials, but in my defense the rubbery hide absorbs impacts better and makes blocking easier on me. It was rough, but I had it under control until…”

 

She holds her arm out in front of her, the small crimson splotches only giving hints of how much worse the wound was before being wrapped.

 

“Gore got really desperate, so it decided to fight a little smarter. Ended up blindsiding me; kicked up some dust, then let loose with a powerful blast of that blight stuff while I was coughing my lungs out. Broke my shield into bits, dented my armor to hell...and that wasn’t even the worst of it. It blindly swiped around in the dust until it got a good grip on me, and nearly crushed me as it smashed me against the wall. But I held that gunlance TIGHT ‘cause all I had left was that Wyvern Fire, and you know what I did?!”

 

Sonali takes a hard step forward toward Runa with a bold grin, leaving her on her heels as she takes an equal step backwards to avoid bumping the wounded arm. The entire ship seems to rock with her bombastic performance as she relives the exhilaration of her near-death experience. 

 

“I held that busted gunlance as tightly as I could, even with the metal shards from my shield digging into my arm-”

 

The Handler takes another powerful step forward, leaning in to close the distance between her and her audience of one despite the anxiety painted plainly on Runa’s face. The ship begins to buckle and creak more harshly than it did before, but Baldur is the only one of the three to call it out. The Felyne in the crow’s nest points out something unidentifiable lurking in the water and the upper deck begins to fill with confused and concerned hunters, some even brandishing surplus weapons in an attempt to prepare themselves for whatever was shaking the ship.

 

But Sonali and Runa are trapped in their own world, grappling with a monster of their own design.

 

“And as that poor bastard roared right in my face, I primed the Wyvern Fire to let loose everything that hunk of junk could muster. That thing reared back to try and get a bite outta me and when I let that trigger go-”

 

Runa unexpectedly bumps into a hunter out searching for the source of the attack as she walks backwards, giving Sonali the chance to loom over her the way the Chaotic Gore Magala had once threatened her not even a couple weeks ago. Their tense gazes are locked with rapt attention as they freeze - Runa overwhelmed by the intensity of the display, Sonali engulfed by the excitement of re-imagining a harrowing hunt.

 

A single word leaves Sonali’s lips, and is quickly drowned out as all hell breaks loose. The ship is split in half as a gargantuan beast of blackened molten rock emerges from the depths of the ocean floor, streams of magma zigzagging all over its body like brightly illuminated veins. Its focus is forward to something none of the hunters can see, the slow and steady marching toward its goal undeterred by the minuscule shrieks and screams of the hunters whose lives it just upended. No one knows what it is, where it came from or where it’s going, all hunters not already violently flung into the ocean wildly searching for an intact lifeboat to get them in safely. 

 

As the three of them struggle to regain their bearings Sonali’s final word rattles around in Runa’s head - not for its significance, but for how simply it managed to capture the sudden upheaval of their journey.

 

“Boom.”


	4. Can't Get Over It

“What in the name of the gods is THAT?!” Runa shrieks, hands darting out to hold the railing and brace herself as the enormous beast takes yet another step. Her death grip and quick thinking keeps her steady, wide eyes locked squarely on the rocky spines of the lumbering beast. Other bewildered hunters don’t find themselves so lucky, dropping into the waters below.

 

Her mother used to tell her stories about monsters this size in the old world and the destruction they caused, along with the incredible teamwork it took to bring them down. ‘Harbingers of Calamity’, she used to call them. Wherever they went death was hot on their heels...and under them as well.

 

Their appearances are supposed to be rare, but Runa doesn’t feel very lucky.

 

“That right there is a walking meal ticket! Hah! Ha ha ha!” Sonali wears a wild, almost maniacal grin as she takes in what information she can from just looking at the beast’s back. “We bag that bad boy and we’re swimming in zenny! We’d be set for  _ life _ ! C’mon, let’s get up there!”

 

“And how do you propose we do THAT, nyah?! We’ve got no weapons, no resources-“ Baldur starts to list off everything wrong with Sonali’s maniacal idea, only to turn and see that she’s moved on to scrounging up what she can from what remains of the ship. “Gods damn it, you’re not even gonna try to work out a plan first? The ship is sinking and the first thing you mention is money, nyah!”

 

“We don’t have the luxury to plan something out, Baldur!” Runa releases her grip, tearing herself away from the monster to exchange fearful expressions with her longtime companion before turning her attention to what was left of the deck. “Either we pray to the gods that someone brings a lifeboat back around, or we have a nice chat about our next steps after we’ve hitched a ride on that thing. I know what I’m gonna do.”

 

Baldur grimaces; that water looked too cold to swim or even tread water in, on top of what else might be lurking under the surface. Even if their other option was far worse, it’d have a better chance of success if they acted fast.

 

“You’re lucky I hate to swim, nyah.” Baldur darts to the bow of the ship to rummage through barrels and boxes with Runa in tow, allowing useless tools and supplies slide into the waters below as they dig for something, anything-

 

“I’ve got something! Move it, move it!” Sonali’s head pops up from inside of a crate, waving to her comrades with urgency. As they get closer, she pulls out her discovery: an arm mounted slingshot multitool. It’s a foreign contraption - that much is certain to the three of them - but the grappling hook and thickly banded rope loaded into them told Sonali everything they needed to know.

 

”It’s called a Slinger, some kind of Commission invention. I stopped paying attention after they told me they were for hunters only, but not before they mentioned that it’s got a grappling hook.” The veteran huntress tosses the device to Runa, who quickly straps it to her wrist. She struggles briefly to get the Slinger on her wrist with one arm, but manages. “Sorry Baldur, they don’t make ‘em cat-sized. You’ll have to hang on to Runa for this next part.”

 

“Next part, nyah? What’s-“ Baldur attempts to inquire further, but once again Sonali takes off to avoid wasting time. Without hesitation she shoots the hook to the top of the mast, using it to fling herself up to the crow’s nest and get a better shot at the craggy rocks along the beast’s side and spine.

 

“Follow my lead! We’ll be legends when we get out of this!” The Handler’s bravery - or perhaps foolhardiness - is daunting to her younger partner, who watches with awe as she crouches back and springs forward with all her might. 

 

She leaps out like a majestic bird of prey, flight unimpeded by her injured wing. At the height of her jump she launches the grapple again, and the clinking of the metal hook catching on an indent pierces the din of the ship’s collapse - success! She cushions her impact against the beast’s back by curling up and bracing, allowing the brunt of the pain to hit her unwrapped arm. All that’s left now is to focus on the climb, making slow and steady upward progress rather than hanging and waiting for Runa to follow her.

 

“Ready, Baldur?” Runa raises her arm to aim the slinger, using her other arm to steady her aim as the ship begins to tilt and wobble after taking on too much water. He doesn’t respond, and she doesn’t bother to wait for him. Time is of the essence, and she’s certain he’s gonna yowl her ear off about it later.  _ It’s like using a Bowgun! A very, very light bowgun that...yanks you around. Just aim and- _

 

An awful crackling sound hits her ears and shakes her her concentration, the rapidly deteriorating ship deck giving way under her feet. The mast is too heavy for what’s left of the deck, and the broken wood begins to give under the stress - taking the ship with it. Runa scrambles toward the front of the ship as it goes head up, using the slinger to hook the railing and yank herself up onto the ship’s prow.

 

“Oh gods, Baldur-” She hisses frantically, looking between the encroaching sea and her slowly withdrawing escape route. “I-I don’t think I can make the shot. The bowsprit isn’t tall enough, even with an arc I’m more likely to land in the water at this distance…”

 

“Runa I’ve seen you hit some crazy shots with Tar-nyah in your face - I know you can do it! Take the shot before we both drown, nyah!” Baldur shakes Runa’s shoulder, claws unintentionally digging in tightly as he braced for another high-speed trip. She can’t stand how much better everyone seems to know her than she knows herself, but it plagues her with an unusual thought as she clambers up the bowsprit - what if everyone else  _ is _ right about her just having a ‘knack’ for the hunt that she’s going out of her way to repress? Somehow this bout of self-doubt feels worse than the last, if only due to how deeply the repression had permeated every aspect of her life…

 

At the tip of the sinking ship Runa weighs her options in silence, tuning out Baldur’s frightened chatter to regain her focus. Launching the slinger’s hook now would be like rolling the dice; she’d have to hope and pray both that the beast stays within range for her hook to connect and that it stays lodged in as she zips to safety. The only other option would be to aim higher and swing, but there’s no telling that she’d be able to land the hook properly from this distance. Unless-

 

The young huntress leaps out, pushing off from the bowsprit as hard as she can with her arms outstretched before she fires the grappling hook as far out as it will go; a leap of faith. Propelling herself into the unknown with an act of blind trust, her eyes closed she floats in limbo. The sounds of the sea, Baldur’s yowling and screaming, the broken ship - it all fades into nothing. All she can hear is her heart, thumping and pounding against her chest like a rampaging Gammoth as she drifts in silence. With her breath held and fists clenched, the world itself seems to grind to a halt...only to pick back up as the hook’s rope goes taut.

 

Her arm follows suit - painfully so, in fact - but it’s a good sign nonetheless. The world comes rushing back in all at once, kickstarting her senses as she and her Palico are drawn upward and away from the wreckage. She can’t help but shout with excitement as she’s hurtling through the air. After all, how often can she say that she’s soaring and she’s  _ not _ on the receiving end of a monster claw?

 

The beast’s hide comes up fast but she’s ready, her two hands latching onto the warm rock face with ease. A few gulps of much needed air later Runa starts her ascent up the monstrous spines, Baldur hopping off to complete the climb without being a burden on Runa. He tries to squeak out a thank you, but his throat is entirely too hoarse to do anything other than croak. It’s enough, he decides.

 

Sonali wears an almost exaggerated grin, looking down to her partner with a nod of respect. It was like watching a good work of theater, rooting for the underdog the whole way through.

 

“Whoa there, little lady! Bold jump!” Sonali whistles affectionately. She wants to give her a thumbs up, but reminds herself that she still doesn’t have two arms. Excitement clouds her mind from time to time, and as she returns to the climb she’s reminded of why she needs to keep a level head - she can feel a faint dampness on the inside of her sling. Even if it hasn’t stained her gauze, a few loose stitches doesn't bode well.

 

“Heh. Thanks!” She shouts back with an uncertain smile. Between improvising to bring down the Deviljho and now this, doing what feels natural seems to work out far better for her than she ever could have imagined. Instinct guides her actions like a leaf in the breeze, but only when she opens herself to it. It seems so easy, yet that feeling of resentment and frustration just  _ thinking _ about hunting lingers like a rancid stench. The repetitive motion of climbing leaves her free to probe her thoughts, but no matter how hard she tries the answer remains just out of reach.

 

Why does it feel so natural, but still so terrible?

 

Climbing the beast is an arduous task, and after minutes of climbing they manage to hit a plateau on its hip. Getting halfway up the monster’s side doesn’t feel like much progress when they look up to see just how much more there is.

 

“Can we talk about a plan  _ nya-ow _ ?” Baldur flops onto his back to try and bring his heart rate down and relax, finding comfort on the warm obsidian stone that one could easily forget belongs to a giant elder dragon. “Pulling a stunt like that and hitching a ride on an elder dragon...we’re lucky to not be dead, nyah. I just...need a second. Phew…”

 

“In a minute, cat. I’d rather talk about how great my little hunter is! Whoo!” Sonali hoots, giving the young huntress a hearty slap on the back. She’s beaming from the spectacle, the same intensity in her eyes as when she was weaving her tale on the ship. “When that mast tumbled I thought for sure you’d be treading water right now. Your finesse, my brains - we’re gonna top of the heap on that island. Research be damned; if you can do that with a monster we’re gonna live like queens!”

 

“Aren’t you asking a lot of a someone you barely know?” Runa inquires over her shoulder, ignoring the dull throb of pain from the eager - but still clearly celebratory - whack. Rather than turning to look at Sonali, her eyes are back on the transport ship. She knows her sister has to be a face on the ship’s crowded deck but the details are unrecognizable, some gawking up at the monster while others are rifling through crates and shouting at one another. It isn't until she watches them push cannons into position that she realizes they don’t know that anyone had thought to actually ride the monster. Yet another wrinkle in an already complicated situation.

 

“I’m just asking you to do the hunting. As long as you leave the rest to me, you’ll never need to worry about zenny again! Hoo hoo, all the money we’ll make…” Sonali practically salivates at the thought, watching the beast’s head bob with every thunderous step. There’s no wall in the world where she could mount a head like that, but why stop at just a wall? The head of an unknown monster would make for one hell of a tourist attraction. Benevolence rarely pays well.

 

“Doubt we’ll make any money if the Commission’s cannons blow us sky high, Sonali!” Runa’s voice cracks with urgency, watching the ship’s organized chaos with a concerned frown. “They don’t know we’re up here. This is bad. Real, real bad. We need to find a way down and-”

 

“Down? Noooo no no! Definitely not! We can’t let someone else have this! Not when we’ve come this far!” Sonali turns and fires back angrily, pointing backward at the beast’s head. “Listen to me - chances like these don’t come around that often! ”

 

“You can't be serious. Staying here is suicide, nyah!” Baldur scrambles to his feet, looking between his friend and his Handler frantically. “A monster this big isn’t going anywhere fast, we can easily come back to it when we’re prepared!”

 

Sonali’s nostrils flare furiously, teeth grinding behind tightly pursed lips. Upset doesn’t even  _ begin _ to describe her feelings. Irrational, unsubstantiated anger running through her veins like the orange lava flowing in streaks across the beast’s body. Of course the Commission had to be the one to ruin this for her. Who puts hunters on a ship and doesn't arm them?

 

“But-”

 

“We’re out of our depth, Sonali! ” Runa shouts sternly, storming toward the woman and throwing her hands up in frustration. “I’m not ready to be blown to bits by high powered cannons, or  squashed by rocks! And even if I  _ wanted _ to take whatever this is down - which I don’t - do you honestly think it’s worth it to try to do this with our bare hands?!”

 

“It’s an uphill battle sure, but with a little clever thinking -”

 

The sound of thunder makes the three of them jolt, attention snatched away toward the ship to find the tell-tale smoke of a fired cannon. None of them notice the salvo of explosives sail over their heads until it erupts into a shower of foul-smelling gunpowder and debris against the beast’s thick, rocky hide. The noise is enough to briefly deafen the three hunters, leaving them struggling between clutching their ears and holding on to any bit of rock they can to steady themselves as their platform begins to come to life.

 

If the cannon fire hadn’t already made their ears ring, the Elder Dragon’s ear-splitting roar following it likely would have. Rather than deterring the beast, they had only succeeded in making it extremely upset. The streaks of lava running along the titan flare up with fury, banishing the murky darkness of the night and replacing it with its own menacing orange glow. Previously hidden openings erupt, spewing thick billows of smoke and sending molten boulders tumbling down into the ocean. Runa thanks her lucky stars that the first avalanche passes them by harmlessly, but she knows this spot isn’t about to get any safer with successive eruptions.

 

“Up! Climb up!” Runa shouts and points to a nearby incandescent rock face, lava slowly oozing through the cracks in the once dormant wall. Sonali begrudgingly nods and launches the hook up the wall, using it to quickly scale the beast by launching herself upward and quickly grabbing onto any indent she can before she loses her progress. Even without her other arm, the dexterity she shows in leaping up the wall with barely more than a stumble is spectacular for Runa to watch.

 

The further they climb the angrier the titan becomes, with unspeakably massive quakes sending boulders hurtling not only past Runa but dangerously close to Tarja’s transport ship. Despite the odds clearly being stacked against them ship quickly moves to set up the next volley of shots, all hands on deck either preparing the cannons, loading the cannonballs or turning the ship to maintain a safe distance and avoid being hit by falling rocks. They’re a finely-tuned hunting machine, years of collective experience coalescing into a small but formidable maritime fighting force.

 

Knowing that the next series of shots could be unintentionally aimed directly at them gives Baldur deathly chills.

 

“Are those...Mernos circling, nyah? How high up ARE we?!” Baldur shouts, attention split between watching to see if they’re in the cannon’s path and looking above to warn for falling rocks. Runa’s in no position to respond, but it does get the gears turning in her head on ways to escape from the back of the beast. To have such a ridiculous idea even pop into her head makes her cringe enough as it is, but she can’t blame Sonali or anyone else this time - it’s all her.

 

“Cannon fire incoming! Hang on!” Sonali warns brusquely, pressing herself tightly against the wall as a another barrage of cannon fire collides with the beard-like stalactites dangling from its chin. Runa grips the rock the best she can as the gargantuan beast reels and bellows a full-throated howl of pain, fighting the urge to cover her ears and dull the intense ringing. Its own stony hide can barely stand up to the powerful roar, magma bubbling out of newly formed cracks like a fountain. The cliff side becomes a minefield of lava, forcing her hand and foot placements become more calculated knowing that chipped stone could to give way to a deluge of scalding liquid.

 

“I swear this has to be the  _ worst _ decision I’ve ever made,” The weary huntress grumbles, crouching down before springing upward to haphazardly snag another tenuous handhold. Her fingertips are all but numb, the heat and the tightness of her grip leaving her soot-dusted knuckles ashen white. “I pack up and leave Pokke to try and spend some time with my sister and now I have to climb the world’s angriest mountain. Tarja owes me big.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’re almost at the top nyah! You can talk to her all you want once we’re off this damn...hellbeast.“ Baldur lingers on the monster’s new moniker, a slight tremble in his voice. ”S-Speaking of Tar-nyah, have you figured out what to say-”

 

“Hey, how do you manage to pick the worst time to ask me about family stuff? I’m a little too busy to get emotional,” Runa snarls, silencing her friend with a scowl. “Unless you want me to let go of this wall while I wipe my eyes. Totally up to you.” 

 

The felyne goes silent immediately, lips squeezed shut as he struggles to swallow a hefty lump in his throat. He looks out into the restless sea, black and orange waves violently wrestling and clashing against the monster from a height too far to accurately measure. The cat opts to stay silent for the last leg of the climb; no sense in prodding an angry Arzuros.

 

The leathery wing flaps of the Mernos are gradually added to the cacophony of noise in the area as Runa pulls herself up and over the edge, the agitated wingdrakes nearly bumping into each other as they screech at the monster that had interrupted their peaceful flight. Below them Sonali stares at the beast’s head, continuing to dip to and fro with every lumbering step forward. She clears her throat as Runa and Baldur approach, wordlessly demanding attention from them.

 

“Y’know, I had a bit of time to think on the way up. It’s probably best of we abandon this thing for now.” She states calmly, stroking her chin. “I’m not giving up on this, though. I don’t care if we have to follow this thing to the ends of the earth. We’re gonna get geared up, we’re gonna take it down, and we’re gonna sell every last scrap. I’ll even split the money with you 60 - 40. 40 should be plenty, considering its size.”

 

“Ignoring the fact that you stole my idea, 60 - 40 is an awful split if I’m doing all the hard work...especially with your arm still wrapped up.” She runs her hands through her once fluffy hair and grimaces; feeling the dust and debris tangled up in her locks makes her physically cringe. “I don’t have the patience for this right now, honestly. I want a warm bath, I want to eat food that isn’t just dung in a bowl, I want to talk to my sister...and I never want to see this thing again.”

 

“You...have a sister? You never mentioned her.” The Dundorman woman pauses briefly, awkward hesitation in her twisted expression as she struggles with her words. “She wasn’t...on our ship, was she?”

 

“No no, she’s on the other ship firing cannons at us. And I tend not to mention her because I’m REAL sick of being compared to her.”

 

“Your sister’s a real hotshot, huh? Who is she?” Sonali pauses to give Runa a chance to speak, only to be stopped with a single finger. “Actually...don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know. I do better work when I don’t know the odds.”

 

“I...don’t understand what you mean.” Runa’s brow furrows, eyes narrowing. “What are you working on?”

 

“I see a way where we both get what we want here. Your sister’s a big deal, right? Then why not knock her down a peg by making a name for yourself on this trip? Give people a reason to think of you rather than her. Plus, people tend not to talk down to you when they see you as an equal.”

 

“That’s enyahough!” Baldur howls boldly, stepping in to speak on behalf of a speechless Runa. “I didn’t say anything when mew told that pawful story about shaking down those Cathar villagers, but I won’t let you pit sister against sister for a few extra zenny. Gods above, you’re a horrible person!”

 

“Oooh, a little mad huh? Look,” Sonali crouches down to be eye level with the felyne, her cold gaze meeting with his righteous indignation. “You’re free to hunt for respect, hunt for fun, whatever. I don’t care why  _ you _ hunt. But at the end of the day everyone needs money, and I’m looking out for me. And that’s what makes this deal great: I book some hunts that’ll get her standing shoulder to shoulder with her sister, do a little extra negotiating here and there and we all split the money. It beats gathering herbs all day.”

 

“You’re talking about putting her in unnyah-ecessary danger so she can fight with her sister rather than talk about what’s she’s going through! Tell her, Runyah! Tell her how ridiculous she sounds!”

 

Both sets of eyes rest expectantly on the young woman and her contemplative expression as she chews her cheek in silence. Runa could never fight with her sister; she’s simply upset, and it’s not even directed at Tarja. If people would stop bombarding her with how much better her sister is, she wouldn’t even  **be**  this upset. But she can’t do that with the hunting record she has now.

 

Maybe a little extra effort wouldn’t hurt.

 

“...how about we focus on getting off this rock instead? I have an idea involving those wingdrakes, but it’s a little crazy.” 

 

Sonali grins brightly, patting an extremely displeased Baldur on the head as she stands back up and nods slowly.

 

“That’s what I like to hear, partner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! I welcome all comments, and I hope you enjoy reading!


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